Sarah’s memory lives on in the hazy joy of the last few days of high school. For external reasons, senior year was one of the most difficult years of my life. While I struggled to find safe places, Sarah was the most complete and understanding support I had. Today, I marvel at her wise counsel, which was beyond her years, certainly. Most of all, I remember the absolute delight it was to spend time with her, and how profoundly I feel her absence in a world which was ready for her to shape.

On a very dark day when I was crying in the bathroom, Sarah encouraged me to talk about my feelings and reach out for help. I don’t know if I would’ve been safe without that brief but incredibly impactful interaction. She will never know my gratitude. I will never forget Sarah because of that day. Most importantly, I will never forget her kindness and compassion and how inspiring it was and still is.

I was Sarah’s Theory of Knowledge teacher in her junior year of high school. She loved thinking about big ideas and was eager to think about issues from different perspectives, even if she disagreed with some of them. She adored Socratic seminars and relished the opportunity to engage in true dialogue with her peers, especially about social justice. Sarah had deeply held principles and a sound sense of self. I remember her Model Congress bill was about Wall Street reform and was as technical as the actual Dodd Frank Act. Her final TOK presentation questioned the origins of “reality” and was simultaneously a critique of the criminal justice system–and somehow those two ideas made perfect sense together. Sarah was a force, and she challenged everyone in the class to think more expansively and more ethically in service of a better, more just world.

The best way I can describe her, I think, is that she was an unwavering friend. She liked me even when no one else did and was unapologetic about that. She knew how to get along with everyone. She was exceptionally talented and hardworking, but it did take a toll on her, more than I think anyone fully realized. She once said to me, in a grim moment of reflection, that her ability to do as well as she did in school wasn’t a reflection of natural intelligence but how much work she put in. I remember how goofy she was, how articulate, assertive, and supportive. During the summer we’d get packs of Oreos and jars of peanut butter and have “picnics” out at Horseshoe Lake. When we came to Shaker I can remember we kind of introduced ourselves by entertaining people with our weird stories from HB. I can remember being in the back of the auditorium during rehearsal for the 8th-grade musical- we were watching a dramatic reading of that Harry Potter fanfic “My Immortal”, we were cackling, we thought it was the funniest thing. We moved in and out of each other’s immediate circles but were always close. There’s a lot to say but it’s not enough.

Sarah was a vital, vibrant member of The Shakerite staff, and her contributions to the program and The Shakerite family continue to enhance both. As copy editor, she used her brilliant command of language to enhance every published story, whether online or in print – and she always did so kindly and with good humor. As a reporter and writer, she brought crucial perspectives to the student body and community. As a senior on project, she spend hours in the newsroom with me, auditing and organizing The Shakerite archives into a system that we rely upon today, and which other seniors appreciated when they took on their project: scanning every page of every edition in order bring the publication closer to a searchable online archive. The conversations we had as Sarah perused the archives remain clear because they were exceptionally rich, intellectually challenging and often just plain hilarious. I am lucky to have worked alongside Sarah in The Shakerite Newsroom, and I will always cherish my memories of having done so.